Butterfly Syndrome
by Hikaru Kosuzaku
Summary: Danny and Flack are sent to crime scene without backup. What a mistake that will prove to be... One-shot


Butterfly Syndrome

**So I decided to try my hand at a CSI:NY fanfiction, as I'm totally hooked on the show. It's a one-shot, and rated for blood and violence. I don't own the characters, and they're probably rather happy about that, given what I'm about to do to them. Anywho, enjoy.**

Detective Donald Flack Junior grinned as Danny Messer made some inane comment about the body in the abandoned subway tunnel. "Oh come on, Messer. It ain't that bad."

"Bad?" Danny asked, pushing his glasses up his nose to study the body laid out in front of them. "No. Suspicious, yes."

Don shrugged, pulling his vibrating phone from his pocket. "It was an anonymous call." He turned away to answer the call. Danny got to work processing the scene. He was getting a really bad feeling about this case and being so far underground wasn't helping much. Especially with a man who had been so obviously murdered, if the slash across his throat was evidence enough. And the duct tape wrapped around his eyes and mouth didn't help matters much.

"Huge storm topside," Don said, sounding somewhat disgusted. "Hillborne says they can't risk sending us any back up. Funny, he sent us." He put the phone back in his pocket. "We're on our own for a couple hours unless we decide to bring our friend back ourselves."

Danny looked up at him with a frown after checking over the body. "This guy's still warm. He ain't been dead long."

Don frowned as well, checking his watch. "We got the call approximately forty-five minutes ago."

Danny was silent for a moment. "I'm no ME, but I'd say he's only been dead for thirty. There's still sweat on this guy."

"So the caller called in before the guy was dead?" Don asked in surprise.

Danny shrugged, his uneasiness intensifying. "The caller is the killer." He stood, taking a couple steps back away from the body and motioning to the wounds in his hands and the blood stains on the tunnel wall. "Think he was pinned up. Like a bug in a collection."

"That's disturbing," Flack muttered, gazing at the wall.

Danny shot him a look. "Most murders are, Flack," he replied. "But it ain't make no sense, ya know? Who would want someone ta know they offed a guy?"

Flack would have replied, but at that moment there was a clatter and something struck him hard on the back of the head. The last thing he heard was Danny's pained cry before the darkness took him

* * *

Don's head was pounding, making it very hard to want to move. But, some small part of his brain was screaming at him for attention. He was sitting up, his arms handcuffed behind him and around a pole. There was duct tape covering his mouth, and a sharp pain in his leg that intensified to blinding proportions when he tried to move. Forcing his eyes open, he saw why. There was a knife pinning his leg to the ground, driven to the hilt through his calf and the ground beneath it.

"Oh good, you're awake," a voice laughed, and Don looked up, eyes widening at the sight across from him.

Danny was pinned to the wall with knives through his hands, his arms outstretched like a butterfly on display. Duct tape covered his eyes and mouth, much like the vic's. And it was obvious that the man standing next to him, twirling a knife in his fingers had been toying with him. Cuts, only deep enough to be painful, criss-crossed Danny's chest, shredding the tee-shirt he had been wearing and staining his flesh and clothing with blood. And by Danny's tense stance, he was most obviously still conscious.

"You've been out for almost four hours," the man said and Don looked at him in surprise. "Your friend here has been a lot of fun, though." Flack struggled against the handcuffs when the perp moved and trialed the knife down Danny's chest, leaving a thin red line in its wake.

Unable to free himself, Don stilled, glaring at the man before recognition washed over him. Edward Jones, the father of a cold-case victim. His daughter had been brutally murdered, but they had never found her killer. And that had, obviously, toppled daddy-dearest over the edge.

"You detectives ruined my life," Jones hissed, pointing the bloodied knife in Flack's direction. "Couldn't find who took my baby from me. Take my revenge on you instead." The knife flashed and Don hissed as it scored a line across his cheek, blood running down his neck to stain his shirt. Jones moved away, muttering to himself, studying the knife in his hand.

Don studied the scene, finding his and Danny's phones in pieces not too far from where he was. The camera Danny had been using to photo the scene was still in one piece, and it looked like it had been used recently as well. If he had been unconscious for four hours, though, then it had been nearly five since they had left the lab. Mac would be wondering where they were. And as neither he nor Danny had called in at any point, Mac was bound to come and see how they were doing. But if they wanted to be found alive, than Don had to find a way out of the handcuffs.

Blue eyes watching Jones warily, Flack felt a small surge of anger towards Hillborne for not giving them any backup on this case. Surely the storm above them had not been that terrible; they had been allowed to go out after all. Jones moved suddenly, walking back to Danny and leaning close to whisper something in his ear. The knife raised and Jones cut a line across Danny's throat in a parody of what he had done to the poor soul that had lured the cops out there. It wasn't deep enough to be life-threatening, but it would leave a jagged scar when it healed. Not to mention the blood loss that Danny would be suffering on top of everything else he was suffering from.

Flack ignored the wash of pain as he finally managed to dislocate his left thumb and slip his hand from the cuff. Moving silently, he squeezed his eyes shut as he moved his thumb back into position and then grasped the knife in his leg. Yanking it free, Don was glad he hadn't yet removed the tape from his mouth, as it muffled his cry enough that Jones took no notice.

Knife in hand, Flack forced himself to his feet, wincing when his head swam and his injured leg nearly gave out on him. Stumbling forward, he raised the knife. Jones turned, eyes widening in surprise as Flack drove the blade into his chest. And then he dropped without so much as a cry.

Don ripped the tape from his mouth, limping unsteadily towards his best friend. "Danny?" he croaked, grimacing at the sound of his voice. "He's dead, man. I'm gonna get ya down from there." Danny relaxed minutely, allowing his head to fall back against the wall he was pinned to. Flack gently placed a hand against his friend's cheek, frowning at the amount of heat the CSI was giving off. Swearing softly at the thought of infection, and glancing down at his own leg and the blood running from it, Don ripped a strip from his dress shirt. He quickly tied the cloth around his injury, knowing that he wouldn't be able to help Danny if he passed out from blood loss.

"Danny," Don muttered, studying the knives in his friend's hands. "This is gonna hurt. Sorry, man." And he gripped the first knife, yanking it free. Throwing it aside, he quickly removed the next blade, catching Danny as he fell.

Danny's weight caused the two of them to slump to the ground, Flack breathing heavily to force away the nausea that came with a concussion. Danny was completely limp, sprawled across him in a way that would have been uncomfortably close if the situation hadn't been so dire.

Blinking away spots, Flack tore Danny's shredded shirt into strips, tying them around his palms and throat in an effort to stem the blood flow. And then, after checking the cuts littering his friend's chest and assuring himself that they weren't bleeding too badly, Flack turned his attention to the duct tape.

Finding the edge of the tape, he gently began pulling it away, wincing as Danny gave a small whimper in his half-conscious state. "It's alright, buddy," Don whispered as he first uncovered Danny's eyes and then his mouth. Glassy blue eyes blinked up at him and Flack rearranged Danny's limp form, cradling him in his lap. "Mac will be looking for us. He'll find us."

"Don' like…bug 'lections no more," Danny muttered brokenly, eyes falling shut as he rested his forehead against Flack's throat.

Flack gave a soft, pained chuckle, relieved that Danny could retain his sense of humor as he gently pressed the makeshift bandage more firmly against his friend's throat. The injuries to Danny's hands were most definitely inflamed, and the detective had reason to believe that his own injury was as well. "No," he agreed softly. "Don't suppose you do."

Danny shifted slightly, whimpering from the movement. "'m sorry."

Don frowned. "For what?" he asked in confusion.

Danny murmured something that Flack was pretty sure was in Italian and then went still. Don swallowed heavily, leaning his aching head back against the wall and tightening his grip on his friend. He wanted nothing more than to pass out, but both their phones had been crushed and he had no way to call for help.

So he would have to wait for help to find them.

* * *

Mac Taylor glanced at his watch and frowned. "Stella!" he called down the hall, to where the Greek had just exited the elevator. "You seen Danny or Flack yet?"

She shook her head, looking distinctly annoyed. "No. Hillborne sent them out to a DB in the abandoned subway tunnels. However, the jerk said the storm was too bad to send out any backup with them." She paused, frowning darkly. "Said the case was probably a hoax as it was called in anonymously called in."

Mac was also frowning by that point. "When were they sent out?"

"About four."

Mac looked at his watch again, although he already knew it was nearing ten. "Grab Hawkes and Lindsey. Our case is a suicide, it's already been closed." He gave a small wave. "Neither Danny nor Don have called in the last five hours. I want to find them."

Stella paled, but nodded and hurried down the hall, Mac watching her go with a solemn gaze. If their friends were harmed in any way, he was personally going to take it up with Hillborne.

Danny's shivering was what woke Flack. Which, a small part of his brain found rather ironic, considering the amount of heat Danny was giving off. Shaking away the fuzziness in his own brain, he struggled out of his suit coat, absently thinking that he should probably stop dressing so nicely for work. His hand was swollen from where he had dislocated his thumb, the handcuffs still hanging from his other wrist, but he gently wrapped the jacket around Danny and leaned back against the wall again.

His face felt sticky, and it was bothering him, but at least it had stopped bleeding. And it didn't hurt anywhere near as badly as the throbbing in his leg did.

There was a sound near the front of the tunnel, and Don could have cried when he heard his name being called. "Mac!" he called back in reply, but it came out more as a croak than anything.

Apparently it was enough though, because Mac Taylor was suddenly crouched in front of them, looking so worried that Flack almost looked around to see who had died. "Mac," he gasped, his eyes just short of falling shut again.

Mac gently took Danny from the detective, his frown deepening when the CSI gave no indication of even being anywhere near consciousness. His head lolled back against Mac's supporting arm, his breathing harsher than it should have been, his fever higher than safe. "Hawkes!" Mac called, checking Flack's fever with a frown as he rearranged Danny in his arms. Hawkes ran over, his phone to his ear, speaking urgently into it. Hanging up, he deftly checked Danny's vitals, and then Flack's.

"The ambulances are on their way. But the EMT's aren't going to be able to maneuver down here," Hawkes explained as he looked about their crime scene, keeping a steadying hand on Flack's shoulder the whole time.

"We need to get them to the surface," Mac said softly, still worriedly gazing at Danny's face. The blood had stopped running from all the injuries, but the bandages around his hands and neck were soaked through, and Danny was far too pale, despite the feverish flush.

"Can you carry Danny on your own?" Hawkes asked as he checked the sluggishly bleeding wound on Flack's leg. Mac nodded slowly, slipping an arm beneath Danny's knees and hefting him into his arms as he stood. He stumbled slightly at the dead weight, but then shifted his burden, eager to make it out of the dark tunnel.

Hawkes helped Don to his feet, supporting the majority of the detective's weight as they followed Mac through the tunnel to the surface. The flashing lights of the ambulance lit the darkness, and Stella and Lindsey's worried faces shone in the light. They both gasped at the sight of Danny, limp in Mac's arms and streaked with crimson. Their worry increased as Don stumbled and sank to the ground almost upon reaching the surface.

The EMTs ran forward with stretchers, taking the two injured detectives and working fervently over them. Mac moved towards the girls, noticing their tears and concern. "Lindsey, you and Sheldon go with the ambulances. Stella, we have a crime scene to process."

"But," Stella said, watching as Lindsey climbed into the back of one ambulance, Hawkes into the other.

Mac nodded wearily. "I know," he whispered. "And we'll see them soon, but we have two dead bodies to process until the other shift can get here and take over."

Stella stared at him for a long moment. "You promise we'll go to the hospital afterwards?"

Mac frowned. "Office first, then hospital. I have something I need to say to Hillborne."

* * *

"Mac," Stella all but whispered, as she stared at the camera in her hands. Mac stood from where he was knelt over one of the bodies, this one obviously having been the one to harm his two friends. He came over to Stella, taking the camera from her and seeing what had her so perturbed.

The first dozen or so picture on the camera were ones that Danny had obviously taken of the crime scene. The ones after that, however, were those taken by the killer. Jones had used the camera to document his time with the two detectives. He had a series of pictures of Flack, unconscious and bleeding as he slumped against a pole.

But there were even more of Danny, pinned to the wall, bleeding and in obvious pain as he tried not to fight against the knives in his hands. "Like a butterfly," Mac whispered, remembering a disjointed comment that Don had uttered. At the time it had confused him greatly, but now he understood.

Mac set the camera aside, feeling slightly sick. Usually crime scenes didn't effect him in such a way, but this had been against two of his own. He moved over to a pair of crushed glasses, ignoring Stella as he picked up the dog tags that were lying next to them. They had been ripped from Danny's neck, if the broken chain was any indication, and then thrown aside.

Ignoring usual protocol, he slipped the tags into his pocket and turned to Stella, motioning her out of the tunnel as the other team arrived to pick p where they left off.

* * *

Mac stalked into the crime lab, ignoring the shocked looks he got at the amount of blood staining his shirt. Danny's blood, not that anyone there other than himself knew that. Hillborne was standing at the counter, talking to the receptionist.

"Sinclair!" Mac snapped, getting his attention. "You've really crossed a line this time." Hillborne raised an eyebrow, obviously not caring, although his trained eye did study the blood for a moment.

"What is it that you're accusing me of Detective Taylor?" Hillborne asked haughtily.

Mac's glare intensified, sending a few lab techs scurrying out of the immediate area. "What were you thinking sending Danny and Flack out without any backup?"

"If those two cannot watch their backs they are not fit for this department," was the reply.

Mac gave him an incredulous look. "They're both in the hospital because of you. You know the protocol. You always send backup. No matter what."

"Messer and Flack are—" Hillborne was cut off when Mac's fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head to one side. "I can have your job for that!" he snapped, fingering his jaw.

Mac gave him an innocent look. "For what, sir?"

"You just hit me!" Hillborne raged, looking as though he wanted to raise a hand to the detective in turn.

"I did?" Mac asked, looking somewhat confused. "Do you have any proof of that?"

"There are witnesses!" Hillborne demanded. But everyone around them just looked at him blankly, giving shrugs. He turned to Jennifer, the receptionist. "You saw him!"

"Saw him what?" she asked innocently, although her eyes portrayed her annoyance with him. "Come in here covered in blood and demand why you broke protocol because you don't like Detective Messer? Yes, I saw that."

"You saw him hit me," HIllborne growled.

She shook her head, forcing a confused look. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

Hillborne grumbled something, shooting Mac an irate glare, and then stalked off. Mac smiled at Jennifer and those that had witnessed his attack on the chief. "Thank you," he muttered.

"He deserved it," she replied.

* * *

Two weeks later, Mac found Don seated at his desk, having resorted to desk work while his leg was still healing. "How's the therapy going?" he asked.

The detective looked up, blue eyes blinking. "Fine. I should be allowed out of the office soon. Well, sooner than Danny will be allowed to, that is," Flack replied, jerking his head in the direction of the lab. They could just barely see both Danny and Lindsey's heads through the glass.

Mac frowned. "He's not supposed to be here yet."

"He was bored," Don answered. "Going-crazy-bored. So I brought him in so he would have something to do. You know how he is."

Mac nodded slowly, and then sighed. "Okay." He turned, giving a small wave to Flack before heading to where Danny and Lindsey were discussing some component in a substance found on a body. "You're not supposed to be here, Danny," he said, startling the two of them.

"Was goin' nuts back at my place, Mac," Danny replied hesitantly. "Don't worry, I ain't really workin'."

Mac studied him for a moment, eyes lingering on the stark white bandages still adorning his throat and hands. He then turned to Lindsey. "Don't let him overwork himself," he ordered.

She grinned. "Of course not."

Returning his attention to Danny he leveled one finger at him. "No working."

Danny raised his heavily bandaged hands. "Kinda hard when you ain't got no hands, Mac."

Smiling, Mac pulled a chain from his pocket, holding it out to the blonde. "Welcome home, Danny," he muttered as the detective gratefully took his dog tags back and placed them around his neck with Lindsey's help.

He then grinned at his boss. "Thanks, Mac."

**There you go, a short little torture fic for your liking. I would love it if you would review. Thank you and enjoy the rest of your day...wow...that sounded like a flight attendent or something...**


End file.
